Spirit of Man
by mutant
Summary: Pretty dark fic, also be warned -CHARACTER DEATH-.


The panic stricken masses were assaulted and pushed back as the demons took the world apart a piece at a time. First was Los Angeles, just a stone's throw away from the hell mouth and it was the first place to fall. Nightmare's roamed the streets killing and devouring anything in their wake and the people screamed as one and were silenced in an instant.

Like a plague of locusts they pushed forward, their hunger never satiated. They never tired, they never slept and they never stopped craving human flesh. Black hearts and even blacker oily skin descended on mankind but mankind had no answer.

The slayers were all but gone, swept away so very easily. The rest of the champions fell soon after, it was only a matter of time before every last one of them was extinguished from the world. There was no balance to this; the universe in which chaos reigned was the culprit. Splitting the hell mouth like a ripe tomato, an army waiting to be unleashed screamed into existence.

They swept from the west coast; Las Vegas fell in a single night. One of the only places in the world visible from space blinked out of existence once and for all. Salt Lake City was child's play, the army stood no chance. Guns, ammo, crosses and holy water were no match for the darkness within their eyes. Tank's exploded, Helicopters pushed out of the sky with a single thought and even a nuclear deterrent only strengthened the dark one's resolve.

States fell one after the other, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Nebraska, Kansas and Missouri were taken inside three months. The rest was sure to follow, the army all but given up and disbanded into a rag band of mercenary groups spread across the states. The government crumbled and the world fell to this dark hate.

Dust filled the atmosphere from the confrontations, the sun was blackened out and the sky was filled with dark eerie clouds reflecting the very essence of the creatures that swarmed the globe.

They pushed and pushed and mankind gave way until they could give no more, until they stood on the edge of the United States in Halifax at Nova Scotia. Two hundred million people whittled down to just over twenty million, they were starving, they were thirsty and they were tortured. Eyes having seen too much, souls having felt the pain of losing so many friends, family, lovers or even just a neighbour.

At a precipice they stood the sea was at their backs with nowhere to go. The hordes of monstrous creatures were behind them snapping at their heels.

It rained down heavy pelts constantly, the world was crying out for the loss it had felt.

It was the 15th of July 2015 and there was nowhere else to go, the sea was at his back and his soul was crying out for vengeance. He'd seen them all fall one after the other and had been powerless to stop it.

Willow went first, she tried to seal the hellmouth with her magic but the magic holding it open was stronger, was crueller and from a universe nobody could comprehend and it backfired. He was there and had seen her eyes burn with fire and her body fall limply to the ground. He was there and he could do nothing to prevent it.

Buffy was next, she was frontline fighting for her life and for every other life in the world. She was faster and she was stronger and still she fell. They swept over here and he screamed as he saw her disappear in a gurgle of blackness, watched as she disappeared into nothing.

The rest fell quickly after that, Giles went in a sea of blood and a scream of horror. Angel disappeared in a cloud of ash and a resigned fate. Spike went out fighting but it was so very pointless as he was pushed aside like a troublesome child.

Then there was Dawnie, his beautiful Dawnie. He'd tried so hard to save her, tried with everything he had and more and it was to no avail. On that fateful day he lost the last piece of his heart and possibly his sanity.

They were all better than him, he'd realised later. All so much better at this stuff, fighting, surviving and finding a way. He survived by keeping ahead of the horde, alerting people as they swept across the country. Telling them to retreat to this place they now held, telling them to come for one last fight.

His eyes were tired, his skin covered in scrapes and abrasions. A scraggly beard hung from his face as he surveyed the people before him. He wore old work boots, some jeans that had holes in here and there and a t-shirt with so many blood stains it almost looked like some abstract painted T-shirt of death.

These people were all like him, tired of death, tired of running. Each one's sanity was suspect, how could you lose people you loved so dearly and not lose a bit of yourself right along with them. He had brought them here, not because he had some elaborate plan to save them. The odds were firmly stacked and wouldn't waiver.

If the army couldn't stop the horde what chance did they have really?

But that wasn't what this was about, this wasn't about winning. This was about fighting for what you believed in. It was the pain of loss driven to the edge and wanting to push back. Twenty million people with nothing to lose all in one place all ready to fight and die.

He refused to give in and die, to just sit and wait to be slaughtered. He refused to be pushed back anymore and the others heard his cry and let out one of their own. The resounding voice of man echoed in the dark skies as they joined together and pushed back.

At the front he stood, unwavering and unyielding.

He was headed to his grave but on his own terms.


End file.
